


perhaps God crumbled up the old moons into stars

by prettytothinkso (cobragirl516)



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Chronophobia, Epic Bromance, Friendship, Gen, It's all really subjective, M/M, Okay really sappy, Or Zouis Romance if you want, Sad Louis, Sad Zayn, Zayn Leaves One Direction, Zouis Fic Exchange, flowery language, kinda sappy, which means fear of the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7481430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobragirl516/pseuds/prettytothinkso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grass whistles beneath them and willows lazily, brushing the curtains of air around them, tracing the outline of their bodies, limbs and fingers splayed out towards each other. Cicadas thrum their tymbals together, and it all seems to come together in one collective vibration, dull tension throbbing. </p>
<p>Louis opens his mouth: "What's going to happen?" Voice hesitant, a tight grip on a barely contained hysteria. </p>
<p>Zayn cleared his throat roughly and pressed a wet hand to Louis' glistening forehead. His voice is deep, silky as he quoted. "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart; I am, I am, I am." </p>
<p>Or where Zayn leaves and Louis is shattered and scared and maybe Zayn is too and both of them fumble through wet grass and owls in the dark to decide that they want to believe in the future just once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	perhaps God crumbled up the old moons into stars

Louis stares at him and feels his lips quirk up as he notices how the stark black of Zayn's tattoos triumph even over the dark navy of the sky. He watches as Zayn raises one inked arm up to the sky, face milky white and unreadable under the silver gaze of the moon that held so much motherhood, at least for that night. 

Louis is bewildered; if nothing else, he recognizes that sensation. Looking up at Zayn, blood thuds against his ribcage, knowing that from the moment the words came out of Zayn's mouth-- _I'm leaving_ \--there was sure to be an explosion, a moment in their future where their relationship detonated, the entwined fingers of Louis and Zayn becoming a messy pulp of failed love and friendship. The only uncertainty was  _when would it come_  and  _how could Louis manage to keep himself sane afterwards_.

The grass whistles beneath them and willows lazily, brushing the curtains of air around them, tracing the outline of their bodies, limbs and fingers splayed out towards each other. Cicadas thrum their tymbals together, and it all seems to come together in one collective vibration, dull tension throbbing. 

Louis closes his mouth and he knows, it's not right. Such a sacred moment where even the tree bark seems fulgid, shielding the python with bright, slitted eyes that seemed to reflect their own desperation and genuine fright for the future. It's not right to let his words drag them back to harsh reality but the distress is building inside of him and before he realizes--

"What's going to happen?" Voice hesitant, a tight grip on a barely contained hysteria. 

Zayn turns to him, eyes glassy and sharp and the distinctive hum around them rides a crescendo, drummed on by the appreciative click of an owl's beak and suddenly, there's a whip of electrical lightning and the vibrations turn into a frenzied plethora of screams and music.

Suddenly, Zayn's hand is curled tight around his wrist and the melody comes in, tinkling and demanding, and Louis laughs. Loud guffaws break the silent judgement of the stars because now all he can hear is the rhythmic beat pounding the curtains of cold night air around them, brushing lightly against their toughed skin and prodding them slowly towards each other. Zayn looks straight at him and they are both high on mania, drinking in the saturated colors of the night and trying so hard to memorize the wet grass blades that stuck to the inside of their shirts. 

Zayn cleared his throat roughly and pressed a wet hand to Louis' glistening forehead. His voice is deep, silky as he quoted. "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart; I am, I am, I am." 

Louis closes his eyes at the words and synchronizes them with his own heartbeat, trying so hard to drag the two parts together, to force the pieces to fit somehow. I am, I am, I am. 

He can't but he knows why. Because as he presses his chest against Zayn's, flipping them over so the bark scrapes at the tender skin for both of them, he isn't wandering alone, tripping his feet on broken asphalt. He's with Zayn, matted hair and eyelashes clumped together and the moon is slicing both of them apart with its glare. 

~~We are, we are, we are.~~

But ourselves. Ourselves but now that too is divided into Louis and Zayn. Louis and Zayn, the two boys who used to only need the mantra _"Only Connect"_ to survive, the soothing promise running through their minds as the world did its best to tear them apart. But now with Zayn's two simple words _(I'm leaving, I'm leaving, I'm leaving)_  the mantra was forgotten and a thin thread was left in its place, scissors placed neatly in Louis' and Zayn's hand. But who will be the first to--

Louis shakily lifts his hand and almost breaks the tentative ethereal calm of the air. He flicks his fingers around, swallowing the guttural sob building in the back of his chest and reminding himself to breathe as he waits for Zayn's reaction. But before he can get lost in his personal metal cage, Zayn's fingers are there, hastily folded into his own, a tangled mess of desperation. 

Louis grins and brushes the slight fringe out of Zayn's eyes and parts his lips slightly. We are, we are, we are.

_"Oh, isn't it pretty to think so?"_

He can imagine Zayn's hasty scrawl of the words, sliding, marveling as the graphite settles there silently, waiting for the day the marks might be picked up and understood. He tightens his white knuckles against Zayn's, a painful reassurance that he is there and when Zayn pushes back with just as much aggression Louis isn't sure who is drifting away and who is the one being anchored anymore.

There's a lone howl of a gray wolf somewhere near them but neither even bat an eyelash.

There's melancholy, Louis realizes, always residing behind Zayn's sculpted cheekbones and curled lashes. Sitting there in a peaceful calm light, casting a soft glow over his shy gaze and melody. 

When did he first notice? Louis questions, slight anger festering inside of him, both for himself _(for not seeing)_ and for Zayn _(for being such a good actor)_. But all that dissipates when Zayn himself begins to tremble, trepidation gripping every inch of his clammy skin and Louis panics. Zayn's lips part into a loose scream and Louis instinctly joins in with his own hysterical call, as if to assure both the wolf and Zayn that there was someone else here. 

Because they're Louis and Zayn, they scream nonsensically, bodies covered in a sheen of sweat until one of their voices crack and the other immediately stops. 

Zayn disentangles himself from Louis' grip and stands up on shaky legs, dull moonlight seeping through the interstices of his silhouette. His hand shoots out and he digs his fingernails into the harsh bark, shredding away the layers of skin and building up his own blood barrier. His eyes were cruel as he stared as his own bloody skin, snarling as he dug his fingers in deeper, deeper, trying to shred as much of himself as possible. 

Louis stands up and looks straight at Zayn, needs him to acknowledge the hot tear tracks now scalding their way down Louis' cheeks. Soft consolidations (it will be okay, I promise) bubble their way up his throat but Louis palm them down immediately, shoving them back into the boxed corners of his mind because right now those words are futile with their stilted smile, they would ruin the genuine tranquility that the night held for them now, even if it was stained with their chronophobia. 

Instead, Louis presses his lips shut and reaches up to Zayn, gently prying his hand away from the tree, fingers dancing as they picked at the caked blood, bark and dirt now built up as a sort of shield for the boy. 

Zayn's lips are now a lascivious red, pearled with flecks of blood and dead skin. His hair hangs loosely in his face and his eyes still shine with that moonlit kind of mania. Louis traces a skinned finger down Zayn's jawline before letting a corner of his lip curl upwards. 

"Does a vampire's skin sparkle in moonlight too?" 

And finally, Zayn laughs, tongue poking out between the unsightly gap between his teeth, small dimples forming in his cheeks. With a pull, they run, wind lavishly gripping at their loose shirts and hair, the curtains of air billowing around them as they wave their arms around, brushing away the swarms of fireflies and mosquitos. 

The sweat on them dries into a hard coldness and so when Louis touches Zayn, he all but stiffens under the sensation of cold marble underneath him. His tear tracks have hardened into stubborn tracks by now so he presses his own chapped lips to Zayn, the inside of his elbow, his wishbone, just Louis tracing his own tributary out from the endless meandering brook that is  _Zayn_. 

When his fingers finally find passion and heat and warmth on Zayn's skin, Louis ceases his movements and sits down, legs dangling precariously over the cliff that they had reached. It's too dark to look down, see the waves screaming angrily at the cut-edge rocks and Louis can only tell that Zayn sits tenderly beside him when their thighs brush together. 

A beat passes with an smothering blanket of apprehension over both of them. Louis felt as if the slightest breath, smallest breeze would shove them over the edge of the cliff, both of them tumbling towards the jagged rocks and he wasn't sure if they would scream at all. 

The silence is almost unbearable now, sweat dotting Louis' brow with his fear of who would give in to the suspense first. 

With a sharp inhale, Zayn rips off his black shirt and bunches it up before hurling it down into the crevice with all his anxiety and rage pent up behind it, gathered into an irate yell. The sound echoes back to him, answering softly, softly, and reminding both of them how small the cliff actually was. How small, and how the grandiose rocks marred with fossils and ashes were really just more large metal bars for them. Forever caged, even here, even after Zayn's desperate attempt to escape, even if that meant leaving Louis behind. 

Almost immediately, Zayn's eyes ceased to be that of a rabid animal's, anger dying down into an dull mask of resignation and forlornness. 

Zayn quiets then, tracing a finger slowly along Louis' arm, fully aware of the gaze Louis has on the top of his head. _I'm leaving, I'm leaving, I'm leaving_. And Louis knows the mantra running through Zayn's head, can almost hear the words because Zayn was never hard to figure out, every thought of his reflected in those soothing pools of hazel.

_(Chronophobia, the fear of change, fear of saying we will never have "right now" ever again, hopeless, it's hopeless, everything between us will fall and it will be my fault--)_

Unable to resist it any longer, Louis palms the soft black tresses of the boy and places his lips in a perfect press against Zayn's head, cutting off his stream of self-punishment. Louis' voice itches, jiggles nervously and wishes to sketch out the fine promise of infinity and forever,  _anything_  really to comfort the shaking boy in front of him. 

But that's not his promise to make and Zayn knows. The tears start up again, droplets dripping and plopping until Zayn gives up on resisting any longer and lets them wash over him in waves, gaze still silent and lowered. Time ticks on in its constant fashion and it's that constancy, that normalcy despite the uncertainty of their future that rips Louis, burrows under his skin until he can't deny anymore that he is on the edge of breaking as well. 

Exhaustion suddenly overtakes him and he scrambles until he is now the one furrowed into Zayn's chest, the one being shielded instead. Louis fists a tight hand over Zayn's shirt, bunching the fabric up. He breaths slowly at the sunspot he made on the boy's shirt and swallows. The ends of his fingers turn white but he continues to hold, curl his nails rigidly around Zayn because once he lets go, the sunspot, the bunched up bundle of tension will explode, fragments sure to embed in both him and Zayn. Louis makes choked up, pathetic attempts at air and Zayn understands, places a heavy hand on the small dimples in Louis' back as he murmurs soft lyrics.

But it's not enough for Louis to calm down and he knows it isn't enough for Zayn either. Because both of them thirst for the empty promise of what if and miracles in perpetuity. Neither can be the one to offer those hollow words though so all they can do is sit there, bordering on living and choosing to leave because this game called life that they're playing just has too many rules. 

As they sit there though, a firefly comes and touches the tip of Zayn's nose, lighting up shadows under the boy's puckered lips and Louis can't help but open his mouth and laugh silently, nothing but breathy pants coming out because god, it's so pure. Zayn's slight doting look of adoration and surprise and then Louis knows why they allowed themselves to stay in this world and be broken in the first place, allowed the entire world to rip and tear at them until they were shredded and so utterly broken.

Because there were these nights, when the dimensions of space fold comfortably around you so the entire world consists of you and your moment and the notion of time is obliterated entirely, much less mention of a future. 

And when Louis looks up from his curled up fists on Zayn's chest, eyes brimming with possibility and please, he dares Zayn to say yes again to hope, to  _what if_ , to this promise for infinity that really hasn't done much for them in the past. 

But because they are both two young boys, still standing, shaken and trembling but still _standing_ as the rest of the world rips around them in a hurricane of frenzy and life, still standing and together, Louis knows Zayn won't be able to help not giving in. To the notion of possibility because after all, their biggest enemy is still hope and the irresistible smile that comes with it. 

Zayn nods and presses his lips to Louis' breathily, both knowing the risk, knowing their decision to believe again in the notion of hope itself might just well drown the both of them until both boys are so far gone that the thread between them snaps with a quiet click. But possibility also offers the other end of the spectrum, one with exhilaration and future melodies for them to harmonize to and more fireflies that haven't kissed them yet. And that other part makes risking their way back to reality worth it in a way, they can be broken as long as they are consolidated with exquisite nights of beauty like this one. And so Louis and Zayn help each other stand up, enveloped tightly in the embrace of shadows and light, the stars crumbling around them and fireflies glittering in their hair. 

Like so, they dare and challenge each other to begin their story anew, the plot based on nothing but the stubborn belief that their thread is strong enough. 

_"...the rest is rust and stardust."_

 

**Author's Note:**

> First off, YES I GOT MY FIRST FIC PUBLISHED ON THIS SITE
> 
> Now. Wow that turned out weird. Yell at me as much as you want please, that just turned into a messy jumble of my thoughts and random descriptions that probably didn't make any sense at all. (Yes, it was about Zayn leaving, plz tell me you got that :( Sorry for the sappy, flowery language and super, super overdescription 
> 
> Surprisingly enough though, there are some parts that I liked and it didn't feel right for me to go back and edit anything out. soo...
> 
> PLEASE GIVE FEEDBACK YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HEART PALPITATIONS RIP THROUGH MY CHEST WHENEVER I GET A NOTIFICATION PLEASE
> 
> Btw, if anyone is interested in quotes: 
> 
> "In our village, folks say God crumbled up the old moons into stars" -Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn 
> 
> "Only Connect" -E. M. Foster
> 
> "Oh, isn't it pretty to think so?" -Ernest Hemingway
> 
> "I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart; I am, I am, I am." -Silvia Plath
> 
> "...the rest is rust and stardust." -Vladimir Nabokov 
> 
> Thnx guys :)  
> -Cindirella


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